


beyond the shadow of a hope

by stardustland (stardustbytes)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: (Referenced) - Freeform, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Body Horror, Dark, Forced Modification, Gen, Lovecraftian Monster(s), M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:37:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23089534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustbytes/pseuds/stardustland
Summary: Months ago, Getaway was abducted on a planetside away mission. Even when the Lost Light recovered him, matters were grim: they found a broken, unrecognizable creature instead. The medics are at a loss, and Skids just wants to help.
Relationships: Getaway & Skids (Transformers)
Kudos: 20





	beyond the shadow of a hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Inky_Squid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky_Squid/gifts).

> Another commission that it took me forever to finish the edits for and get around to posting. Yikes.
> 
> Thanks for your support!

Skids could hear every word that Ratchet and Ultra Magnus said, but the meanings slid away under the static roar of his mind. The rising tide of dread and guilt felt indulgent in the current situation — this wasn’t about  _ him _ — and yet it was difficult to fight. He blinked, wiggled his fingers, and tried to focus on what Ratchet was saying. But the guilt and regret swarmed his mind — not the nebulous cloud of his past that he always chased, but something recent with concrete consequences present on the other side of a private medical room door.

He clenched a fist again. Guilt and regret would do neither himself nor Getaway any good, so he had to shake it off. A physical aid came in the form of Ratchet waving a hand in his line of vision. “Skids, you getting any of this?”

Skids blinked. “Sorry, Ratchet.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “So what is recovery looking like?”

Ratchet pursed his lips, sharing a glance with Ultra Magnus. Neither of them were known for their cheeriness, exactly, but seeing them both look extra severe was unnerving. “It would be a miracle if he can even remember a basic glyph in Neocybex. Whatever they did to him, it messed him up bad.” 

Skids shuddered.  _ They _ . Whatever had tried to consume their entire landing party on the surface of an otherwise barren world had taken Getaway and broken him down and remade him. For what purposes, well — Skids had the impression that all three of them were reluctant to ponder it.

“You should not blame yourself.” Skids blinked and peered up at Ultra Magnus. Clearly the look on his face conveyed doubt, because he went on: “You did the right thing. Those… aliens could have grabbed any one of us on that mission. That wasn’t your fault, and neither is what happened to Getaway.”

Skids sighed. “Thank you,” he said. The guilt still clung to him. He had run, overcome by the terror of the attack. He hadn’t even known Getaway had been taken until his absence was made on the shuttle. He hadn’t even looked. 

Clearly uncomfortable with any further attempts to console him, Magnus went back to pecking at a datapad in his hands. Skids remained quiet for a moment, trying to keep his thoughts away from the mission on which they’d lost Getaway in the first place.

He glanced up at Ratchet. “Can I see him?”

Ratchet pursed his lips again. He shared a glance with Magnus, who only seemed to frown harder. But he said nothing discouraging. “Well… alright. Follow me.” 

Trepidation pressed on his spark, but Skids didn’t hesitate to follow Ratchet deeper in the medibay, through the doors of a private room. The first thing that caught his eye was the glow of bars. A cage. 

_ A cage _ .

The second was movement. Whirl was on the far side, sticking his claws through the bars of the cage. Huddled inside, hissing at Whirl, was Getaway. Or at least, the creature those beings of the deep had turned him into. Skids swallowed, gazing at him as Magnus scolded Whirl and shooed him away from the cage. Getaway hissed again, his exposed and heavily modified mouth revealing vicious fangs. 

“Come on, let’s go,” Magnus said. The sternness of his voice didn’t abate Whirl’s apparent glee, even as the ex-Enforcer grabbed his arm with a massive hand and began to escort him out. “Ratchet, if you need any other assistance…”

“Yeah, I’ll call you,” Ratchet replied, waving him out. He crossed his arms as he watched Skids watch Getaway. 

Swallowing the mix of emotions — dread, fear, guilt, hope — Skids finally approached the cage. “Is this for his protection or…”

“...Ours too,” Ratchet said. He sighed. “He hasn’t been violent without provocation, but — well, you just saw.”

“Yeah.” 

Moving carefully, Skids slipped around the corner, trying to get closer to where Getaway crouched. From this distance, it was easier to see the rest of the modifications made to his frame; he wasn’t only crouching, his limbs had been re-molded to function more like a beast-moded mech, the rest of his frame having been slimmed more to that end as well. 

Skids lowered himself slowly into a squat, but this seemed to be too much for Getaway. He scooted backwards to the opposite side of the cage, pressing himself down into the corner and making a deep, warbling growl. With a sigh, Skids stood upright. 

“Don’t feel bad,” Ratchet said. Skids strode back his way. “He’s been like this for everyone. He’s not used to us anymore.”

Skids frowned as he stood next to the medic again. “I don’t want to think about what he  _ is _ used to.”

Ratchet didn’t reply right away, his jaw grit tight. “It’s like they did a purposefully incomplete job of domesticating him.”

Skids sighed. “Incomplete? They haven’t messed with his brain module?” 

“Not dramatically,” Ratchet replied. He began scrolling through a datapad apparently packed with scans and schematics of Getaway’s modded and original frames. “It seems more like a few blocks and some heavy conditioning. But I want to be sure I fully understand what’s going on before I even think of going that deep in it. Rung is going to do a full evaluation as well, though...” Ratchet gestured. No need to say anything else — it wasn’t like Getaway could communicate with Rung.

Skids nodded, but he’d trailed off in thought once again. “Whatever had him… they weren’t like us, but they — well, they weren’t like anything we’d  _ ever _ seen before. There’s really no telling what lies beneath.” Nothing like horrors more ancient than even Cybertronian civilization to forcefully remind the jaded among them that they would never know or master their galaxy.

Ratchet sighed. After a moment, he rested his hand on Skids’ shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “He needs space, and you need rest.”

Skids made a noise of assent, but he cast a last glance over his shoulder. The wild blue stare of Getaway’s optics following him would haunt Skids for endless nights.

—

The fortunate thing about living on a ship which drew chaos like a magnet was that despite the thoughts and nightmares plaguing him, Skids could always find some distraction to keep him busy. For weeks at a time, if he desired it — and he did desire it, more often than not. But when he could throw distraction in front of his concerns no longer, Skids found himself right back at the doors to the medibay.

It was an unusual Ratchet-less shift, but First Aid regretfully informed Skids that no significant progress had been made regarding the true recovery and reversal of what had been done to Getaway. The medics and Rung were playing it safe, considering it had not been Cybertronians who altered Getaway; however, he’d become more accustomed to the company of his former shipmates. “That’s something at least,” First Aid said, fussing with the innards of a medical drone. “You’re welcome to go see, of course. Tailgate is in there with him right now.”

Skids smiled weakly. “Thanks, Aid,” he said.

The trek to the back door leading to Getaway’s “room” ( _ cage _ ) was straightforward, but Skids felt like it took a million years to walk anyway. There was no reason to hesitate, to feel this… dread. Magnus, Ratchet, Rodimus — almost anyone involved had reassured him so often that the guilt he carried was misplaced that he could conjure up any one of their speeches by spark.

The black void cloaking so much of his memory hinted that they were right. But having something in his accessible memory to affix the aimless guilt and dread upon was strangely relieving. 

Skids pursed his lips. Rung was going to have a field day with  _ that _ one.

The thought broke him from his hesitation at the door and Skids finally opened it and stepped through.

As First Aid had said, Tailgate was seated next to the cage. Getaway was curled up by the bars close to him, and as he walked closer, Skids could see that Tailgate was petting his helm. At first, Skids thought it was odd, or maybe insulting. But Getaway looked far calmer than he had previously, and his optics were half-shuttered and unfocused. Tailgate was unusually quiet as well, only offering Skids a brief wave in greeting, but then he supposed the minibot would be thoughtful enough to tone down his normal exuberance to spook Getaway less.

Eventually, Skids squatted down next to Tailgate, watching the two of them in silence for a moment or two. “This has been helping?” he finally asked. 

Tailgate peered up at him. “Well, it’s the first time I’ve seen him in weeks, but the medibay was unattended when I got here so I wandered back to find him.” 

Skids hummed. “It’s my first time back in a couple of weeks, too,” he admitted. He finally sat down next to Tailgate, cross-legged and fixing his gaze on Getaway. The altered mech lazily soaked up the attention, in a way that almost worried Skids even more than when he’d been wild with fear and fury. Would Getaway ever be the same again?

“It’s… weird,” Tailgate finally said. 

“Hm?”

“I avoided coming here a lot because… I mean, it sucks to see him like this. And I don’t want to treat him like a pet, but…” Tailgate trailed off, letting his hand slip away between the bars and settle in in his lap.

Getaway slowly blinked his optics open and bright again, peering at Tailgate questioningly.

Skids sighed. “Yeah, I know,” he said. This time he reached his own hand through the cage to pat the top of Getaway’s helm. The mech’s joints relaxed instantly. “But then this is better than seeing him upset or afraid.”

Tailgate’s visor flickered. “Yeah.” 

Skids sighed, drawing his hand back into his lap, too. “But he does have us and the medics looking after him. He’s taken care of.” Getaway lazily peered at them from the other side of the bars when the petting once again ceased.

The minibot’s EM field flowed against Skids’ in a little flare, his equivalent of a smile. “I’m glad we’re his friends.”

“Me too,” Skids said, returning the smile. 

But as they sat again in silence, enjoying the calm air between the three of them, Skids couldn’t help but frown once more. He meant what he had said; he intended to focus on helping Getaway’s recovery, no matter what… Yet he couldn’t help but feel mournful. 

It made sense, Skids supposed. Getaway was one of his few links to the past he couldn’t remember. Losing that in any capacity doubled the burn of seeing a friend this way. 

Worrying about his own issues seemed overwhelmingly selfish in this situation. Getaway was in a much worse position, one that he could potentially never come back from. The thought made Skids’ spark chill with fear as he gazed into Getaway’s altered face. He  _ did _ want Getaway to recover for the sake of it, not just as Skids’ touchstone. Skids knew that, just as he knew the rest was true. 

He pursed his lips and added one more drop in his bucket of guilt.

— 

For the next few months, Skids visited more regularly. Initially he was surprised that few of Getaway’s frame modifications were reversed, but apparently Rung believed that it would be too much of a shock if they didn’t first make progress with Getaway behaviorally and mentally to match. Rung had also praised Skids’ consistency in visits and time spent with Getaway. The mech wasn’t conversing again, but he was interested in more than base-level wants and needs, and he had grown more confident and less fearful of the people coming in and out of the medibay. His cage had eventually been removed entirely, an act which took the heaviest of weights off of Skids’ spark.

Hearing that his visits had a positive impact on Getaway was as good of news as Skids could expect to hear — both touching and fulfilling. That he could give back in some capacity meant a lot to him, and it helped ease the burden of guilt he still carried with him over the entire situation. So when asked if he was interested in further involvement with Getaway’s progress, Skids eagerly agreed. He would have been even without all of the remarks Ratchet or First Aid would make about the effect of his presence on Getaway’s behavior.

Whatever he had expected from such a exhortation, it hadn’t been this: Getaway slinking through the halls at his side, still on all fours, gazing wide-opticked at hallways that should have been familiar to him. It was impossible for Skids to tell whether Getaway did recognize any of his surroundings or if he was simply at ease because he was close at Skids’ side.

Either way, they would get to Skids’ hab in no time. Between Rung, Ratchet, and Ultra Magnus, the agreed-upon idea was that Getaway would benefit from more of the kind of interaction he got with Skids, or occasionally Tailgate. Skids became the natural candidate, both for his lack of hab suite roommate and his past with Getaway. They would try to get the altered mech used to a more normal life and routine outside of the medibay, and having someone familiar to escort Getaway to and from his sessions with Rung would make things easier on the psychiatrist as well.

Skids had had no argument.

When they arrived outside his door, Skids paused. Getaway, of course, stopped too. He sat on his haunches, close to Skids’ ankle. After a moment, he reached down to pat the top of Getaway’s helm — he’d long since overcome his conflict regarding petting him — and smiled as his friend peered up at him with a happy purr. 

“We’ll get you through this,” he said, and though of course Getaway couldn’t reply, the way he’d been looking at Skids when he spoke lately made Skids think that the mech was starting to comprehend. “You were there for me and tried to help me. Friends return favors.” 

Getaway peered up at him for a moment, his large blue optics unsettling… and then he let out a single mew of a sound.

Skids blinked. After he had gotten over the large portion of fear and anxiety regarding his return to the  _ Lost Light _ , Getaway was hardly vocal aside from the gentle purrs he sometimes made when content. Was… Getaway trying to communicate with him after all?

He smiled ruefully as he finally opened up his hab suite. It was probably wishful thinking. Ratchet and Rung had stressed how long of a road recovery from an event like this could be. Hope was important, but no good if it led to reading too much into things. Skids knew he would only set himself up for disappointment that way.

But still. He couldn’t help but take it as Getaway’s current capacity for saying “thank you.”

“Alright,” he said, as he stepped through the door. “Welcome home.”

—

One year.

A year, and not much had changed. Skids had been right to caution himself against hope, it seemed. 

They had their routines. There was comfort in it. But after a year with Skids to supposedly accelerate Getaway’s recovery, Skids began to despair. 

Had he lost a friend and gained his shade as a pet?

—

Skids had made a promise, though, and despite the seductiveness of that pit of despair, he didn’t intend to just give up. He didn’t let himself give into isolation, though despite how used to the situation everyone had become over the last year, Skids still didn’t get many visitors. Of the few that felt comfortable was Tailgate, and by extension Cyclonus — who didn’t seem to be bothered by much, at least on this particular scope of things. Skids had grown used to their visits and looked forward to them, grateful he had gotten to know them better, even if it was because of Getaway’s condition.

Though they frequently visited, Getaway still tended to hang back and make himself scarce, not fond of the noise conversation and sometimes movie-watching could bring. But Skids had considered it for a while, thinking back to some of those first visits to the medibay when he had been so hopeful about Getaway’s recovery…

“Just a moment,” Skids said one night before Tailgate could queue up their selected movie. 

Tailgate peered over at him, hand still raised. “What’s up?”

Skids frowned as he thought, and then picked his helm up a little to meet Tailgate’s gaze. “I’ve been thinking — you remember a year ago, when Getaway was staying in the medibay and we would sometimes visit him together?”

Tailgate tilted his helm. “Yeah?”

“Back then I felt like he was improving a lot, but lately…” His gaze tracked to Getaway’s usual haunt, and sure enough there he was: blue optics glowing from beneath the spare berth, more attentive than usual because of Skids speaking his name. Skids sighed. “Well, it’s been a lot of the same. He’s a lot more comfortable now, sure, but… I had hoped for more.”

The smaller mech nodded, visor dimming as he thought. “So what are you thinking?” 

Skids shrugged. “I’m not sure… but I do want to see him get better. And he responded to you before. He normally stays back because of the noise, maybe — maybe before we start our movies or whatever up each time, just spend some quiet time with him?” 

Cyclonus and Tailgate shared a look, but Tailgate instantly seemed to brighten. “Sure! If you think it might help… I wanna see him get better, too.” 

Skids smiled, feeling his spark warm. He nodded. “Great… Thank you.” 

And with that tacit permission, Tailgate slipped away from the media controls and went over to Getaway, still curled up beneath the berth. Skids watched them for a moment, as Tailgate carefully knelt on the floor next to Getaway and spoke to him in a soothing tone. The other mech instantly relaxed, and — as if he were remembering that spate of visits a year ago — shuffled forward to put his chin in the small mech’s lap to ask for pets to his helm. 

Tailgate shrugged and started stroking between his finials.

Another smile worked over Skids’ lips, and the fact that it felt alien disturbed some other part of him. Maybe he needed this, too.

—

And like that, things seemed to look up. Getaway began to perk up for Tailgate’s regular visits, and it was as though some confidence had returned with the extra attention. Now when he and Cyclonus visited Getaway waited eagerly with Skids, and would even sit between Skids and Tailgate through the movies. To be near them, and for the head pats he so loved.

But just as initial progress had leveled out before, so it did again — and Skids felt a renewed hope swiftly lose its wings.

He hated himself for latching onto such a fragile thing in the first place.

He hated himself for being angry about it.

—

“We can’t stay long, unfortunately,” Tailgate said one night, several weeks into this new routine. “But we didn’t want to mess up Getaway’s schedule.” He smiled, patting the head of the altered mech while Cyclonus loitered near the door. Skids had mostly grown accustomed to his silences as normal and not a comment upon himself or Getaway or anything else.

Skids smiled. “That’s thoughtful of you,” he murmured.

Tailgate’s field flickered cheerfully against Skids’. “First Aid said consistency is important,” he replied. “That’s why they wanted him to stay with you, right?”

Skids hummed in the affirmative, preoccupied with his usual thoughts of late. He sensed more than saw Cyclonus and Tailgate exchange a look. Though Skids did finally take notice at a more concerned pulse of energy against his field. Skids blinked and peered over at Tailgate, putting on another smile.

“Is this… helping?” Tailgate asked cautiously.

Skids sighed. “Yes,” he said. “Well — it was.” 

Tailgate continued patting Getaway’s helm. “It’s not anymore?”

Skids frowned, trying to think of how to phrase it “He’s a lot more confident and the routine of something aside from treatment is good for him, but — ”

“ — he is not any closer to regaining his previous personality or autonomy than before.” It was Cyclonus who broke in this time.

Skids’ shoulders slumped. “Yeah,” he said.

Tailgate paused in his petting of Getaway’s helm and stepped forward to comfort Skids instead. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

The blue mech opened his arms to accept the proffered embrace. “It’s okay,” Skids said softly. “Thank you for being here through it all.” He glanced up at Cyclonus. “Both of you.”

Cyclonus nodded.

Tailgate continued hugging him and Skids smiled as he thought about how good a hugger Tailgate was despite his small stature. Tailgate was a good friend with a good spark. No matter how things turned out with Getaway, Skids was grateful he’d gotten to know Tailgate and Cyclonus better.

Now, though, more attention was on Skids and comforting him, so no one really noticed Getaway’s concerned expression or fidgeting. At least, not until the modified mech scooted closer and made an almost whine of a sound.

Tailgate and Skids looked down once Getaway pawed at Skids’ leg. A soft chuckle escaped the minibot’s vocalizer. “He wants to comfort you, too,” he said softly. 

Skids felt his spark ache, but he still smiled and placed a hand on Getaway’s seeking helm. “I know,” he said. “You care. Thank you.” Getaway made one of his mews. Skids was used to them, but… but something was different. He tilted his helm. “It’s okay,” Skids said. 

And then Getaway did it again.

Staticky, struggling as if speaking a foreign tongue.

_ “Skids.” _

Skids froze, looking at Getaway, then Tailgate and to Cyclonus for confirmation. “Did he just — ?”

Cyclonus frowned. “It certainly sounded like your name.”

Getaway nuzzled against Skids’ hand affectionately. Almost purring. “Skids,” he said again, clearer, though rough and static-filled still.

Feeling pulsed through Skids’ spark, overwhelming, almost knocking him on his rear out of his squat. “Yeah, it’s me,” he said hoarsely.

Getaway hopped up so that his paws planted on Skids’ shoulders. Now, clearly encouraged by the wash of positive emotion through Skids’ field, he chirped the mech’s name again.

Skids laughed a little, wrapping his arms around Getaway in a tight embrace. “That’s right,” he murmured, clinging to his friend. “The name’s Skids.” He could only smile wider as Tailgate joined the embrace, and the twin of their fields kept him warm and excited and loving.

Maybe hope wasn’t so wretched a thing after all.


End file.
